


Castle

by reliquiaen



Category: Pitch Perfect
Genre: F/F
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-02-21
Updated: 2015-02-21
Packaged: 2018-03-14 09:36:48
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,624
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3405818
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/reliquiaen/pseuds/reliquiaen
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"Then again, she was still alive and not currently in shackles, she supposed that was worth something." - AU. Oh how I've missed writing about castles!</p>
            </blockquote>





	Castle

The walls of the drain-way were slick and tight. That was to be expected given the purpose of the tiny square tunnel however, and she tried very hard not to think about what exactly it was that made the stone as damp as it was. She should’ve brought gloves; the loss of friction would have hindered her though… And hygiene wasn’t one of her highest considerations to be honest.

Eating was.

She paused at a juncture, glad to finally see an ‘up’ in this messy labyrinth of holes. It had no rungs up the sides, unlike the big shafts that provided access to the maintenance areas. Those ones were frequented often and required an easier way of getting in and out. This little one though, wasn’t supposed to be used the way she planned to.

Chloe stuck a hand in the rags around her waist, fumbling free a lockpick and jamming it between her teeth. It would be best to be prepared. The grate at the top might be chained shut and it would be incredibly hard to retrieve a pick once she was at the top.

Her fingers drummed against the wet stone, hands trembling a little as she pressed her palms flat. The ooze running down the surface was pretty gross, but she forced herself to ignore it as she pulled herself up into the vertical chute. It was good the stone was so rough-hewn – little to no mind was paid to these areas, nobody would see them… or they weren’t supposed to anyway – they gave good grip.

Her shoulders ached dully with the effort of pulling herself upright in the tight confines; they rasped against the stone, her flimsy tunic not much of a barrier. Her knees scraped the other wall as she dragged them up next, bracing her legs on the far side, the toes of her boots scrabbling for traction. Once she was sure she wasn’t going to plunge back down into the lower tunnel, she stretched out and up, hauling her body one painful inch at a time up the shaft.

It took way longer for her to reach the top than she was expecting, her whole body was burning by the time she was met with a simple iron grate. As she’d expected, a padlock kept it closed. Thankfully though, it wasn’t such a hard mechanism.

She took the pick from her teeth and stuck the end into the lock. Since her neck was crooked at a funny (and unpleasant) angle, Chloe couldn’t properly see what she was doing and had to go by feel. Her back was pressed flush against the wall, trickles of grime soaking her shirt and making her shiver. With any luck she wouldn’t end up with pneumonia, but she may yet.

Her heart lurched in her stomach anxiously. Not using her hands to support herself was always the worst. She had good balance and excellent dexterity, but the fact that she was currently holding herself above possibly a thirty foot drop was nerve-wracking to say the least. And her boots were worn.

Happily, she heard the padlock click open well before her feet slipped. One hand immediately returned to prop her up against the wall while the other pushed the grate up. It provided a nasty screeching noise as it shifted in its socket. Even though it wouldn’t help, Chloe made shushing sounds at it, clambering out of the shaft as fast as she could. She pressed it back in place and scuttled off down the corridor, hoping the racket hadn’t drawn any attention.

She’d dashed through shadows across two adjoining halls before she realised she had no idea where she was. That passageway _should_ have put her out on the second floor two right turns away from the kitchen and its accompanying larder – which happened to be her target. This was not the kitchen.

Chloe blinked around at the tapestries and those gaudy suits of armour with silver gilding that would serve absolutely no purpose in a fight. There was a table along one wall with flowers and vases in niches carved out beneath broad windows. There were freaking _arrow slits_ placed at sporadic intervals and _those_ existed only above the third floor. 

She tiptoed across the red runner and peered out one of the oversized windows. And she blinked again. This was the _fourth_ floor. One storey short of the top level; this floor housed a collection of nobility and assorted benefactors – a place for all the wealthy bootlickers who pandered to the king in the hopes of receiving a pat on the head or the scraps from his table. Essentially they were court lackeys with too much money, too much time and not enough brains.

 _At least this explains why the climb was so much longer than I thought it’d be_ , Chloe grumbled to herself. 

This was a setback. She stepped away from the window, darting to a particularly well shaded corner in which to hide while she thought. Chloe had no idea how the rest of the castle was laid out. She’d only paid attention to the areas immediately surrounding the kitchen and the waterways that riddled the bedrock beneath the castle. She’d worked out how to get in, how to get out and which ways she should go so as not to be seen. This was very much outside the scope of her plans.

Absently, she tapped on the wall beside her, a melody flashing through her mind, trying to calm her down. What could she do? If she was caught she’d be killed on sight and she had no idea which way to go. Some thief she was.

Stairs, the thought cannoned into her head. 

“Right,” she mumbled, peering down the hallway in both directions. Find the stairs, find the way down, find the way out. Should be a piece of cake. Oh, but cake sounded great right now. Her stomach groaned, reminding her that she hadn’t eaten today.

In a crouch, keeping hard against one wall, she skittered down the hall. Surely it wouldn’t take long to find a way down. Right?

And it probably wouldn’t have either, except she was currently being driven by her stomach and when the scent of roasted pheasant wafted into the corridor she skidded to a stop, nose up, trying to locate it. She closed her eyes, trying to orient the source of the smell without that particular sense. This was no small feat, but after years of practice it only took her a few corridors out of her way to locate what she could only hope was the room containing the delectable scent.

Chloe hunched lower, pressing calloused fingers against the wood, gauging its weight, its age, its strength. She examined the hinges, running one dirty digit across the join, deciding it was relatively well lubricated and probably wouldn’t squeal. Finally, she pressed her nose to the door right near the keyhole, wondering what kind of locking mechanism was hidden in the wood. Her fingers hovered over the handle as she deliberated opening it.

After what probably amounted to far too long, she placed one finger on the gleaming metal and pressed down on the handle. She leaned her shoulder into the wood, pushing it in. It wasn’t locked. Curious.

She only opened it the tiniest of slivers, enough to get a look at maybe a third of the room. Yes, the pheasant was definitely in there, but not anywhere she could see. From what she _could_ see, the room was a sort of study, probably set aside for a diplomat of some kind.

Palm flat against the door now and feeling a little braver, Chloe pushed the door in further, slinking in when the gap was wide enough and easing the door closed behind her. Her brain absorbed all the darkest places in the room as soon as she turned her concentration towards it. Under the table, the benches, the dresser, between those two bookshelves, behind the pot plant, in the corner shrouded by the curtains; every space where the opportunity to vanish might be present was plotted out in her mind.

And that was before she looked at the room itself or attempted to locate the pheasant. It was a study, the furniture made that abundantly clear. Of course, there were a few oddities, such as the stuffed targets hanging on the back wall and the weapons rack beneath it. There were no weapons in the rack though, and Chloe wondered what that meant.

She stopped caring when she finally remembered the pheasant. It was laid out on an artistically crafted silver tray and was accompanied by an assortment of vegetables, a saucer of some glazing (possibly cranberry from the colour) and a bottle of what she could only assume was mulled wine in a pitcher full of ice. It was a meal with no holds barred, clearly – definitely meant for someone in the upper aristocracy. 

Chloe absently shifted the cutlery around, wondering why they were arranged in that fashion and why anyone would need more than one spoon. It took her mere moments to add up the number of roasted potatoes sitting on the plate and another minute to settle on the probability that some would be missed if she stuffed them down her shirt (or in her face). Her hand danced above the platter, noting how the potatoes were grouped and deciding which cluster would be most efficient to pilfer before high-tailing it out of here. She didn’t like to be cornered and – with only one door – this room was a dead end.

She didn’t have time to grab more than two before there was yelling outside the door. Chloe stuffed them both in her mouth, practically swallowing them whole, as she scampered to the most promising hideaway in the corner. The light streaming in the windows nearby would make the shadows seem darker and the curtain was paired conveniently with a large, leafy pot plant. She melted into the dark just as the door was pushed open.

One of the castle guards dressed in his stupidly bright white and gold uniform (that would be a pain in the butt to keep clean, never mind the high chance for blood-stains in his line of work) barged in. He had one meaty hand clasped around the arm of a tiny little woman who was protesting the treatment in a voice that defied her size. She kicked at him fiercely and Chloe realised she was dressed in men’s clothes, tailored to her, admittedly, but it was still uncannily strange.

“Let me go, you malformed oaf,” she bellowed at the man, trying to punch him in the throat with her free hand. He simply caught it and tucked it behind her back, shoving her into the room. “Did your mother drop you as a child? Or are you naturally stupid? Don’t answer that, both are probably true.”

He gave her one last push, sending her staggering across the room. She threw out a hand, grabbing the end of the table. With the other she snatched up a spoon and brandished it at him. He just laughed. “Your father is getting tired of you stealing swords, little one,” he said in a low bass rumble.

“Yeah?” the girl asked, smirking. “Maybe he shouldn’t leave them lying around then.”

The guard sighed. “Just don’t leave the room again today, please. My schedule is busy as it is.”

Still waving the spoon in a way obviously meant to be threatening, the woman didn’t reply. The guard pulled the door closed behind him, ignoring it when the spoon was thrown. It bounced off the wood and clanged to the floor.

The woman huffed, storming to one side of the room – glaring at her plate on the way past – and then storming back to the door. She kicked it with one booted foot. Whirling around again, she marched to the table, plucking a fork up and stabbing it down violently into the pheasant. Still fuming, she used the knife to hack in a rather unladylike fashion at the bird, speared a slice and carried it with her to the window.

Chloe cowered deeper into the shadows, hoping not to be noticed. The woman just stood there for a moment, munching on the meat while gazing absently out the window. Without warning she spun, a dagger appeared in her hand as if by magic and hurtled across the room, embedding itself to the hilt in one of the stuffed targets. Then the woman fetched her tray and pulled herself up onto the window sill with it on her lap. 

“Oh, yes,” she grumbled between bites. “This’ll be so much fun, he says. We’ll have guests from all over the kingdom come for a visit, he says. You’ll make new friends, have a good time and maybe meet a nice young man, he says.” Her pretty porcelain face contorted into a grimace of distaste at the thought and she stabbed a potato with unnecessary force. “I have to smile and wave and wear those stupid frilly dresses that inhibit movement and _breathing_ and pretend everything is grand. I’ll throttle him in his sleep.”

She fell quiet after that. For a while anyway. Chloe was uncomfortable with this situation but was practiced at staying still. This wasn’t the first time she’d broken into the castle to steal food, after all. But it was her first time trapped in a room with one of the nobility. And a rather grumpy noble at that.

Either way, crouching was starting to cause a cramp in her calf and it really stung. So despite her skill and practice, it really shouldn’t have been a surprise when her leg slipped out from under her. She almost recovered, one hand grabbing the rim of the pot, the other flying out behind her to prevent her from falling over.

But the plant rustled, tilted, bounced on the floor.

The woman looked up, frowning.

Sweat ran down the back of Chloe’s neck as she shrank back even further. She was stopped by the wall, already as far away as she could get. Panic grabbed the reins, her heart galloping out of control. Another knife whirled into the woman’s hand.

“Alright,” she said flatly. “Get out here or my knife will go to you.” And honestly, it scared Chloe that she was so calm about it. The absolute lack of any kind of emotion in the lady’s tone was the worst kind of worrying.

Chloe trembled, but didn’t want that knife through her throat, so she stepped out of the shade and into the room. She felt awfully exposed in the sunlight, blinking, crouched, ready to bolt. The woman just stared at her.

Then her knife vanished.

“You don’t look like a spy,” she noted. “Too thin for that. Who are you?”

 _Lie, you have to lie_ , her brain told her. But seriously, what lie could she tell that would get her out of this hot mess? None were coming to mind.

“A thief,” she whispered instead.

The woman lifted an eyebrow. “I don’t suppose you’d manage to hide many candle holders in those rags,” she said, smirking. “So stealing what? Information? Or planting something? Poison maybe.” Her eyes glanced down at her food then, fear flashing across her face.

“F-food,” Chloe stammered out. “My sister and I are starving. I got lost on the way to the kitchen.” Why she was being honest with a noble was beyond her. But the knife hadn’t stuck her yet, so she might as well keep going. She was too deep to back out now anyway.

“You must’ve gotten very lost,” the woman chuckled. “The kitchens are down two floors and the nearest staircase is almost half way around the corridor from here. How the hell did you get up here?”

Chloe backed away, trying to slip back into the shadows where she felt safer. “Drainage pipes. I must’ve used the wrong one.”

Then the woman’s mouth fell open. “You climbed up a drainage pipe?” she asked, disbelieving, eyeing Chloe up and down. “I guess that explains your state of dress. Still, those things are tiny.” She rolled some thoughts through her mind then. “But you are pretty small, so…”

“I’m small?” Chloe asked quietly, hoping the comment hadn’t been heard.

The woman simply smiled at her. “Yeah, I know I’m little. Just between you and me: it’s an advantage around here. I’m not suspected capable of a great deal, so when I punch someone in the face it’s always a surprise.” Her head tilted to one side. “What’s your name?”

Chloe blinked again, taken aback by the question. “Chloe,” she replied softly.

The woman waved her hand. “Yeah, Chloe who?”

“Beale. Chloe Beale. Are you going to throw me in a dungeon?”

“Why would I do that?” she asked, arching an eyebrow.

“I’m a thief.”

She shrugged, waving a hand absently, brushing that fact away as though insignificant. “So? You were stealing food. I know folks who steal lives and that’s condoned by the law. Your crime is petty. My name’s Beca, by the way. Beca Mitchell.”

Chloe’s eyes shot wide open and she slithered away again. “The _king’s daughter_?” she hissed, shoulders shaking.

“Yeah. Don’t ever call me Rebeca or I _will_ have you thrown in a dungeon.” Beca smiled when she said it though and there was a mischievous twinkle in her eyes that spoke of playful honesty. “I don’t bite, you know.”

Chloe’s gaze darted to the dagger stuck in the target. “You’re a pretty good throw, though.”

“So putting distance between us is about as safe as sitting on my lap,” she laughed. “Just relax, alright, mouse. I’m not going to turn you in. How old is your sister?”

“Twelve,” she replied hesitantly. “We have different fathers, but I look after her.”

“What’s her name?”

“Aubrey… Posen.” Chloe shifted uncomfortably.

“I have a sister too,” Beca told her. “She’s eight. Her name’s Stacie. We both get our rebelliousness from mother dear and dad can’t stand it.”

“Why?” Chloe asked, fiddling with the frayed hem of her tunic. “Why are you rebellious?”

Beca shrugged one shoulder, making a funny face. “Because our father is a controlling nut-job who treats his subjects like cattle, I guess. I mean look at you. He just doesn’t care.”

Chloe frowned suspiciously. “And you do?”

At that question Beca positively beamed. “Have you ever seen a riot, Chloe? They’re not fun. For now, father keeps his people subjugated through force of arms, but at some point they will rise up en mass. When that happens, I’m going to disappear because for all his bravado and showy military, I don’t think he could keep out a few thousand angry farmers. Best to keep the majority of the population on your side, don’t you think?” She winked.

That was odd. In town, the vendors and merchants all whispered about Princess Rebeca and her blasé nature, recalcitrant streak and general disregard for authority. They all thought she was a little crazy. They muttered about her being an attention seeker, someone who just wants all of her father’s love. They mentioned all the fights she started or participated in, her tendency to slip unnoticed out of the castle and her predilection for carrying arms of one sort or another. But nobody ever considered that she might have a decent, logical mind on her shoulders.

Chloe was still frowning.

“You don’t believe me, do you?” Beca asked, not seeming all that perturbed by the possibility. “That’s fine, I don’t expect you to. But honestly, my dad has got to be the dumbest smart man I know. The rest of his court isn’t far behind him. Anyway,” Beca went on, jumping from the sill. Chloe huddled away from her again. “Oh stop. Let’s get you cleaned up, then find you something to eat, yeah? I’ll send someone for your sister as well.”

“Why?”

“I can’t feed the whole city,” she said, dumping her now clean plate back on the table before yanking her knife from the target. “But I can start by helping you out. Besides, I can’t let you go running off like that can I? I’ll just tell them you’re some messenger of mine or whatever. They don’t question me. Come on.”

With that, Beca headed for the door. She glanced up the corridor one way, then the other. She waved Chloe over, smiling. Chloe eyed her warily, not sure how far to trust this woman. Nobles weren’t generally speaking the kind of people a thief would associate with. Then again, she was still alive and not currently in shackles, she supposed that was worth something. She scuttled over.

“You might want to try standing a little straighter,” Beca whispered to her. “Anyone who sees you all hunched over like that will know something’s up.”

All Chloe could do was nod her head in acknowledgement and follow the petite princess out into the corridor. Out of habit, she kept towards one side, automatically utilising any cover they came across to break line of sight in one direction or another. Beca kept looking at her funnily as though not sure whether to be amused or irritated. But Chloe had learned long ago that being slow and careful would get her safely to her destination much faster than brazen would.

Beca, it seemed, was not as practiced at this art, and Chloe had to hiss at her a few times to take cover just before a servant or patrolman crossed through the corridor ahead of them. Four times, Chloe had to drag the woman down and behind a suit of armour or table and every time she did it absolutely terrified that she’d have her hand cut off for her trouble. But every time, Beca would simply shoot her a grateful glance, pause and then hurry off again.

It wasn’t long, either, before Chloe was utterly lost. She attempted to hold a map of the floor in her head, but Beca knew secret passageways where nobody ever went (except maybe the odd serving woman, she’d admitted grudgingly). These paths wound around and up and down and cut across other areas until Chloe didn’t have a clue which way was out. She was impressed that Beca knew where she was going, actually.

Finally, they stopped beside a suit of armour standing guard outside of the hidden passageway’s exit. It was so heavily encrusted with jewels that Chloe had to take a moment to collect herself. Stealing the gems was stupid, she’d never be able to sell them without someone noticing and wondering where they’d come from. But if she could, even a fistful of the precious stones on that suit would feed her and her sister for the rest of their lives.

“Thinking about taking some of them are you?” Beca asked, smiling.

Chloe shook her head. “They’d only draw attention and get me killed.”

Beca’s smile wobbled, but she recovered quickly, pointing to a door across the hall, not far down to their right. “Those are my rooms. You ready?”

She just nodded, letting Beca go first. The princess hurried across the corridor and stuck her head into her room. When she pulled back out again she was grinning and waved for Chloe to follow. Chloe was a little more careful in her entrance, sliding left along the wall – still in a crouch – until she was met with a desk. Then she stopped, looking around to make extra certain that nobody was hiding anywhere.

This particular room was open and had large windows on the far wall beneath which were a collection of hip high bookshelves and a table sporting flowers. Chairs filled the space in a semi-circle around the fireplace and another – larger – table, no doubt for meals. Hung on the walls were a mixed assortment of musical instruments and weapons. Chloe shouldn’t have been surprised by this, but she was. There was a crystal clock on the mantel piece along with a few other unimportant trinkets and above the fireplace was another stuffed target. This one was so full of holes the straw was seeping out. She assumed that the curtained archway lead to the bedroom and possibly a space for washing.

Beca leaned against the table, smiling at her. “You really don’t trust me, do you?”

“I’m a thief,” she repeated flatly. “I don’t see why a thief would trust a noble, no matter the circumstances.”

“Fair enough,” the woman replied with a shrug. “Still, you can’t be waltzing around the palace dressed like that. You look like a street urchin.”

Chloe frowned at her. “I am.”

“Yes, but they don’t need to know that,” she laughed. “Come on. I’ll call my maid to get a bath mixed for you. I’d really rather not have you walking around like that.” Beca turned to walk away (probably she had a bell she could ring to summon assistance).

“Why?”

Beca paused, looking back over at Chloe. “Why what?”

“Why would you help me? I don’t understand, I’m a criminal.”

“You’re just a person who was misfortunate enough not to be born into privilege. I’m not going to persecute you for that. You didn’t try to kill me or steal anything other than what you need to survive.” Beca shrugged again. “I can help you. So I will.”

Chloe thought a moment about that. Then, “Why me?”

“You ask a lot of questions,” Beca replied, still smiling. “Any other thief in your position would’ve latched on to my kindness and never let go.” Chloe didn’t respond, merely waited. “Well, when you wander into my life, I figure it could be for a reason, you know? If you really want, I can get you a change of clothes and let you walk out. No questions asked.”

For a reason. Chloe, everything is for a reason, Aubrey’s words floated through her mind. She blinked. Beca just watched her expectantly. She wouldn’t care what decision Chloe reached.

Slowly, she straightened. “I guess I’ll stay,” she muttered, still not quite sure if it was the right thing to do. But if someone was offering to feed her little sister, that wasn’t something she could ignore. “But I won’t be some kept pet.”

Beca’s smile at her words was inexplicably large. “Good. And I would never expect you to lie around idle. I’ve met commoners before; they like to work for their keep. Unlike nobles. Don’t worry.”

She motioned through the archway, holding the curtains back so Chloe could go in. As she’d expected, inside was a bedroom. A canopy bed carved from some dark wood filled a good portion of the space; it was draped in pale sheets and was bracketed with small tables. There was another bookshelf and a wardrobe also and two doors set in one wall. At Beca’s insistence, she stepped into the first room which it seemed existed solely to house a copper bath tub. Although there was a small chest of drawers and a towel rack also.

A chime sounded behind her and instinctively, Chloe dropped to a crouch, pressing herself back into a corner. Beca smiled at her apologetically. “Sorry,” she said, pointing to a bell pull on the wall. “I just had to call my maid. Where are you from?”

“I was born in the countryside,” Chloe replied slowly, straightening somewhat. “I moved to the city with my sister after our farm burned down. It’s easier to get lost in the city.”

Beca scrubbed a hand across her face. “Alright. What if I tell my maid that you’re an informant in the city? Do you hear much of the goings on out there?”

Chloe nodded, a little unsure of where this was going. On the one hand, there was potentially food somewhere in her future. On the other though, she could expect a trip to the cell block and probably a hanging in the morning. No axe for the common thieves, no sense in wasting the executioner’s time.

“Can you fight?”

“I’ve never killed a man,” Chloe told her. “If that’s what you’re asking. But I can hold my own. Have to be able to.”

Beca nodded absently but before she could continue with her interrogation there was a soft tapping on the other side of the doorway. An older lady stuck her head in, wispy grey hair pulled back in a dishevelled bun. Her eyes though were piercing, brown, and Chloe felt as if, should that gaze fall on her, every last secret she’d ever tucked away would be unceremoniously examined. She unconsciously shied away again.

“You called, highness?” the woman asked, blinking once at Beca. She looked as though she’d been putting up with the princess for a good long time now and was immune to her tricks.

And the smirk that suddenly adorned Beca’s face was just one such trick that had no effect. “I did, Jasmine. This is my friend Chloe,” said with a gesture towards Chloe, “she’s an informant of mine in the city and has possibly been exposed as an employee of mine. Since that means her safety is now in question, she and her sister are to be relocated indefinitely to the castle. Naturally, she can’t be walking around dressed like that, so I’m leaving her in your capable hands.” Still wearing that little up-to-no-good smile, Beca waved at the door. “Just got to make a trip to the library.” She ducked out before Jasmine could so much as open her mouth to argue.

The little old lady sighed instead, whipping her eyes up to Chloe and squinting at her. She extended one gnarled finger and prodded Chloe in the shoulder. “You aren’t one of her people,” she said flatly. “I know the princess, she’d rather get her hands dirty herself than hire someone to feed her the lies her father spreads.”

Chloe’s eyes went wide and she pulled away from the woman, trying to put the tub between them. Jasmine just grinned at her, exposing rows of yellowed teeth.

“Oh, don’t get your panties in a knot,” she snapped. “Beca has a surprisingly good judge of character given her prickly demeanour. The fact that she called you her friend is good enough for me.” She pointed to the tub. “Sit.”

Uncomfortable as she was with the idea of someone doing things for her (and wondering belatedly how a simple theft had gotten her into this troublesome situation), she perched on the edge of the rub. Jasmine clucked her tongue and shuffled around to peer at her. Chloe remained as quiet and still as she could, hoping to all the gods – known and unknown – that this trauma would be over with soon.

“Right,” Jasmine said, clucking her tongue. “I’m going to get water for this and some clothes for you to change into. I’m not dumb enough to think you want my help, but give me a holler if you need anything. There’s soap in the drawer.”

Chloe sort of just stood around while Jasmine hauled buckets of water in and dumped them in the tub. She offered to help, but the old lady simply glared and snapped that ‘it was her job and she was perfectly capable, thank you very much’ so she gave up. She continued to stand there awkwardly until Jasmine was done filling the bath, placed a pile of clothes on top of the drawers and a towel on the rack and retreated from the room.

At which point she rummaged around in the top drawer before finding a small rectangular bar of orange soap. It smelled like oranges too. How luxurious to have fruit soap. It was soft between her fingers, not coarse and grainy like the soaps in the market. Almost she wanted to know if it would taste like orange as well. It wouldn’t and she knew better than to take a bite.

Instead, feeling awfully self-conscious, she slithered free of her tatty brown rags and slipped into the warm water. She could’ve cried. The water was _warm_. Never had she been submerged to her ankles in warm water, let alone her chin. It took her several minutes to get past that fact (fighting down that incomprehensible urge to cry the whole time) and remember to actually bathe.

For someone like Chloe, bathing consisted of wearing her most dishevelled clothes and wading out into the river to soak. And the river was by no means clean. It was more the act of exchanging a layer of grime for a slightly different one. She couldn’t recall the last time she’d been truly clean. Nor could she recall ever having the _desire_ to be clean. The grime she wore was akin to armour, nobody wanted to accost a tatty, dirty urchin after all. Still, peeling back the dirt crusting her like a second skin, picking it from beneath her nails, scrubbing it free of hair long since turned to russet from the muck it accumulated, was definitely tear worthy. It was actually a marvel to her, something she was berating herself for indulging in because she couldn’t begin to imagine that baths would be a regular occurrence.

Still, when the water around her was the most awful murky shade of brown fathomable, she could see the colour of her skin again. And once more she wanted to cry. Why was she so emotional all of a sudden?

Chloe was loathe to pull herself from the water, but the warmth had dissipated somewhere between her fifth and sixth scrubbing, much longer and she’d shrivel up and catch a cold. Reluctantly, she lifted herself out of the tub, wrapping an almost sinfully soft towel around her middle before inspecting the clothes. Thankfully, they weren’t anything gaudy, just simple linen (although the fact that it was linen and not the rough wool she was used to was something she’d have trouble recovering from). They were cream and brown with blue stitching, cut in the local fashion for young women. The idea of wearing stockings and skirts was horrifying to her, even if they were split for horse riding. They came with a belt and a little purse that could be tied to her hip.

It took her a moment to work out how to get into the dress – not having worn them for years since they were so impractical for thieving – but once she did Chloe decided that she definitely didn’t like them. She hurriedly transferred all her things into the pouch, it wasn’t much, just a few lockpicks, a loop of string and a polished stone (the stone could be used to make a racket and distract guards; being polished was simply aesthetically pleasing).

Still adjusting her skirt and running the fingers of one hand through her now clean hair (oh goodness it was _clean_ ) she padded barefoot into the bedroom and then out into the living space (she didn’t bother with the stockings, they’d just itch). Jasmine was sitting in one chair by the window reading but she looked up when she heard Chloe enter. And her expression changed.

“I guess that explains why Beca wanted you to stay,” she muttered wryly, placing the book back on the shelf. “You look uncomfortable.”

“I don’t like dresses,” Chloe mumbled, not wanting to complain. “I haven’t worn one since I was six.”

“And how old are you now?”

“Nineteen.”

For no reason Chloe could ascertain, that made Jasmine smile. “Take a seat, dear,” she said, pointing. “I’ll find you some trousers later. Beca has quite the stash of them, if you’re brave enough to rummage in her things you might find something.”

Before Chloe had a chance to reply, the outside doors banged open. A small girl with a mess of chestnut hair whirled in. She flew across the room and hopped up onto the arm of Jasmine’s chair. Only once she was swinging her legs off the chair did she see Chloe. Then she smiled.

“Are you Beca’s friend?” the girl asked. “Your hair is really red. Is it natural? Where are you from? How did you meet Beca? What’s your name?”

Jasmine laughed. “Hush, Anastasia. Give her a chance to catch up with you.” Chloe must’ve looked absolutely horrified from the way Jasmine was peering at her. “Calm down, she’s just enthusiastic.”

The girl pouted and crossed her arms. “Fine. And don’t call me that.”

Chloe took a deep breath, sinking back into the chair, wondering (again) how she’d ended up here, in this room, with these people, in these clothes. And she was clean. It was really, really odd.

“I’m Chloe,” she told the little girl.

With a wave, the girl announced, “I’m Stacie, Beca’s sister. My name is actually Anastasia, but I hate it. It’s funny because Beca hates her name too. Do you hate your name?”

She shrugged. “I’ve never really thought about it,” Chloe said. “But no, I don’t hate my name.”

“Good,” Stacie said decisively, nodding. “It’s a pretty name.”

“Isn’t it?”

Chloe just about had a heart attack then and pressed as far into the back of the chair as she could, eyes wide. Until she looked up and saw Beca framed by the doorway – odd how her racing heart slowed when she realised who it was. A tall man was with her – but he might’ve just looked tall standing beside Beca – with curly brown hair and dressed all in grey. He smiled at Chloe.

Beca smiled at her too and jerked a thumb at the man. “This is Jesse. He’s my all-purpose friend, but his ‘official’ job is horse trainer here in the stables. And he’s probably my best friend too… maybe. Jess, this is Chloe. She’s… a new friend.”

Jesse just kept smiling. “Lovely to meet you. Has Beca employed you yet?” he asked her politely.

Chloe frowned but was saved from the strange position she’d just been put in when Beca slapped him. “Shut your face,” the princess hissed at him. “Remember why you’re here.”

He brightened (inexplicably), all traces of mischief gone from his expression. “Right.” Jesse turned; Chloe wasn’t sure what he was doing. She leapt from her seat when she realised he was gently guiding her sister into the room. “I uh… Know some people in town. They helped me find her. She wasn’t easy to convince though.”

“Chloe?” Aubrey questioned. 

“Yeah, Bree,” she said softly. “It’s me.” Aubrey needed no more than that before flying into Chloe’s arms. Heedless of the fact that she was newly clean and her sister was still the worst kind of grimy, Chloe hugged her tightly, running a hand through her hair.

“Where are we? What happened?”

Chloe laughed. “I got caught.”

“You never get caught.”

Her eyes darted up then, noting the quiet smile on Beca’s face as she watched them. “I don’t think it was a bad thing to get caught this time. Would you like a bath, Bree?”

Aubrey pulled away slightly, fingers fiddling with Chloe’s hair. “There’s a lot of red here,” she whispered. “You’re clean aren’t you? That’s why you feel different.”

“That’s right. Do you want to be clean? These people have clothes for you.”

Aubrey leaned back in to mutter so softly Chloe almost didn’t hear, “Who are they?”

“I’ll tell you when you’ve washed.” Slowly, Chloe walked Aubrey over to Jasmine and placed one of Aubrey’s hands on her gnarled knee. “This is Jasmine. She’ll help you.”

“Won’t you do it?”

“Not this time. I have to sort a few things out first. She’ll take care of you though. She was good to me.” 

Aubrey’s little fingers clenched in the fabric of Jasmine’s stockings. “Alright. You’ll be here when I’m done though, won’t you?”

“Of course, squeak. I’ll be right here.”

Her mouth twisted down wryly as she huffed her displeasure. “Good.” Jasmine took her hand lightly and ushered her into the washroom. Jesse hurried off to fetch more water at Jasmine’s tart prompt. Stacie kept switching between standing in the doorway to the bathroom and following Jesse when he left to get extra buckets.

Beca tapped her shoulder, motioning for her to sit. “She’s blind,” the princess stated, flopping onto the seat beside Chloe. “You didn’t tell me that.”

“Not completely blind,” Chloe informed her in a small voice. “Her sight has been deteriorating since she was seven. All she can see now are coloured splotches. She says she doesn’t mind, that her sight doesn’t impact her singing or playing music, but she’s scared. I’m scared too. I can’t imagine what it would be like to live in a world of darkness. And we can’t afford a healer to get her treated. I don’t even know if it _can_ be treated.” She was babbling, but didn’t realise it until Beca placed a hand on her leg. Chloe sucked in a deep breath, glancing down at the hand. “I hate dresses,” she sighed.

Beca smiled. “Yeah, me too. I’ll get you some trousers later. Would you like to stay here? I didn’t think to ask you earlier.”

“Why?”

“You ask that question a lot,” Beca noted.

“I think it’s valid. You’re being _kind_ to a thief and her almost-blind sister. I don’t understand.”

“There are a lot of bad people in the world, Chloe,” Beca exhaled. “But you’re not one of them. You could’ve poisoned me, could’ve killed me before I even knew you were in the room. A lot of thieves out in the city would have done that, given the same opportunity as you. But you didn’t. Why?”

Chloe blinked. Her mouth opened and closed a few times but nothing came out.

“You could’ve stolen all sorts of valuable things,” Beca went on. “The jewels in the armour, the music boxes, the crystal goblets, silver cutlery. But you didn’t. Why?”

“Because it would get me caught,” she breathed. “I just wanted food.”

“Exactly. You’re not a bad person. It’s written all over your face all the time. I think the better question is: why do you keep trying to avoid my kindness?”

“Because it’s charity. I don’t want to be… to be one of those people who is reliant on someone.”

“So get a job here,” Beca said quickly as though she’d been waiting for that exact opening. “I can hire you. You _and_ your sister, then you can work for what you get and I can retain the pleasure of your company.” Her smile widened. “You know you’re the first person to not call me ‘highness’ all the time. It’s nice. Even Jesse calls me that and I can’t stand it. Sometimes it’s nice to be just a person and not a stupid princess.”

Chloe blinked, not at all sure what to make of any of that. “But… I don’t have any skills.”

Beca snorted. “Don’t lie to me. You are practically a clairvoyant; you stopped us from getting caught like a dozen times on the way here from the study.”

“It was six,” she grumbled.

“You have an excellent memory, you can count, I’d bet my crown that you can read too.” She waited for Chloe’s reluctant nod and muttered ‘my mum taught me’ before going on. “You can hide really well and you said you can fight. You could be… my personal assistant or something. I’ll even get you a bunk to sleep on so you can stay here with me and if it makes you feel any better; your job can be to kick the stuffing out of anyone who comes to kill me in my sleep. How’s that sound?”

“You fight pretty well yourself,” Chloe argued. “I’ve seen you throw a dagger.”

“Yeah, but I’m not allowed to do that at fancy functions.” She bumped her shoulder against Chloe’s. “I’ll even teach you how to do the knife throwing thing.”

“What about Aubrey?”

“You said she plays music. What instrument?”

“Fiddle mostly, but we lived in the back of a tavern once and she got really good at piano too,” Chloe admitted.

“What if I get her proper lessons and she can come up with some sort of occupation in her own time? She’s only twelve after all. I’m not a monster.” There was a question in her eyes though as if she wasn’t sure if Chloe would agree.

Chloe bit her lip. “It just… it doesn’t seem fair for you to give us all this. What do you get out of it?”

Beca’s eyes lit up hopefully. “A friend maybe? I don’t have many of them. Just Jesse and he doesn’t really count.” She twisted then, peering over the back of the couch at where Stacie had now invaded the wash room and was chatting animatedly with Aubrey. “Also my sister seems to be taken with Aubrey. It’d be a crying shame to split them up.” She turned back. “What do you think?”

There was a prideful part of Chloe that didn’t want to accept this ‘easy’ way out. Yet there was also a part of her that remembered climbing up a drainage tunnel that morning and how gross that was. She thought of Aubrey too, this would be better for her, no matter Chloe’s feelings on the matter.

And then there was Beca, looking at her like Chloe held the last remnants of the sunlight in her hands. She wasn’t a monster. She was offering Chloe a way out. What sort of idiot would turn that down?

“Alright,” she eventually sighed. “We’ll stay.”

It should’ve been impossible, but Beca’s face exploded into the biggest smile Chloe had ever seen. “Excellent.”

“Can I ask one question though?” Chloe put forth warily.

“Go for it.”

“When’s dinner?”


End file.
